


How to Live

by via_ostiense



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Homeric Hymn to Demeter
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-05
Updated: 2005-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 17:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/via_ostiense/pseuds/via_ostiense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Demeter and the verb 'to live.'</p><p>live<br/>v. lived, liv·ing, lives <br/>v. intr.<br/>Prompt: 31_days: Dec. 1:  E come vivo?</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Live

1\. To be alive; exist.

After her daughter disappears, Demeter goes to earth. No force in the universe could keep Persephone hidden on Olympus, so Demeter knows that there are no answers for her there. Life is not worth living, she thinks, without Persephone. She sits by a well in an unremarkable town and wonders what that means. The feeling in her chest is unfamiliar. She feels empty and dull, as if she will never laugh again. The Muses' songs have lost all attraction for her and the Charites' laughter makes her want to vomit.

"Old mother," a girl says. She holds a bucket, as do the three girls standing next to her. "Old mother, are you feeling well?" The girl's hair is coarse and dry, her eyes are muddy, and her skin is rougher than Demeter's cloak. Her voice grates like a flock of crows.

Demeter stares uncomprehendingly.  How dare a mortal address her directly, standing on her feet as if she thinks that she is superior to the goddess among goddesses, the giver of good things, lovely-haired Demeter?  She stands up, ready to blast these arrogant mortals to dust.  She inhales deeply in preparation to shake the earth with her voice, and chokes on the dusty air, more than what her lungs can take.  Her legs shake and she had forgotten that she had cast away her godhood for a mortal form.  It had felt right at the time.  She would no longer live among gods, so she would take on the form of a mortal.   _That's no solution_ , she had thought, with the portion of her mind that never felt grief.   _You can't really die, so eventually you'll return home, nothing achieved by this mummery._

"Mother!" Alarmed, the girls rush forward and help her sit back down, one grasping each of her arms. She could laugh; as if they could help her. When she speaks, she is alarmed by the sound of her own voice, harsher than the young mortal's.  _I am mortal, now_ , Demeter reminds herself.

"I am fine, thank you," she croaks. "Only tired." How true that is. She does not need to eat, but it has been an endless time since the last feast on Olympus, where nectar and ambrosia flowed freely. The honey sweet taste of ambrosia is a faint memory and her former life is an ill-remembered dream. There was a girl, she remembers. A girl that was important, and flowers.

The mortals exchange worried looks with each other. "Do you think mother would agree?" "Demophon needs a nurse." "Are you sure she's in her right mind?" They whisper back and forth over her head, darting looks at each other and at her shabby dress, while Demeter stares at the dirt and ignores their words. When she blinks, she is looking into the eyes of the girl that spoke first.

"Old mother." The girl is kneeling and looking up at her, and somewhere distant, Demeter remembers that this is right, that mortals should bow before her, but she cannot remember why. "Old mother, if you do not have anywhere to go, my sisters and I would like to invite you to our home. The night is cold here, and it is not fitting for us to leave a stranger outside without hospitality." Her sisters nod in agreement. Demeter can almost see differences between them now. One of them is shorter than the other, and the one on the left has eyes the colour of withered plant life. The first girl continues to speak about the town and the local leaders. Her voice lights with pride when she speaks of her father, who is of wise counsel.

Demeter wants to laugh or perhaps snarl.  _I could know everything that you tell me now, and everything that has happened before and everything that will happen in the future_ , she wants to say.  _I can determine the fate of your puny town and the harvest that you ought to be bringing in_. She says nothing, though, because she left godhood behind when she went to live among mortal men. The temptation to reveal herself is strong, but it is only a reflex. She is an old woman, nothing special, lucky to have the charity of these young girls.

"What is your name? I am Kallidike and my sisters are Kleisidike, Demo, and Kallithoe," Kallidike says, gesturing at the short one, the tall one, the brown-eyed one. They have filled up their buckets and Kleisidike and Kallithoe assist the old woman in standing up.

"My name," she licks her dry lips. "My name is Doso." And she follows the young girls home.

  
2\. To continue to be alive:  _lived through a bad accident._  

Doso sits in a chair and rocks young Demophon in her withered arms. He squalls and kicks his feet, then subsides with a happy gurgle. She feels his tiny form cuddling into her breast and smiles.  This isn't quite like rearing her first child, but the feeling of warm contentment is the same.  She sat in this same chair for the past four months, while winter came and refused to leave, holding Demophon and rearing him.  The girls are starting to look haggard and Keleos and Metaneira whisper about the failing crops and the snow that has covered the ground with no sign of melting, but Doso thinks of nothing more than Demophon's smile, and how he looks for her when he wakes up.

  
3.   To support oneself; subsist:  _living on rice and fish; lives on a small inheritance._

Demeter pokes at the fire and watches Demophon crawl around the burning fagots.  He tries to catch the embers as they fly away and laughs when he steps on a white-hot log, which cracks and explodes into a shower of sparks.  One day, inspiration struck and she changed from Doso to Demeter while holding Demophon by the fire.  Doso's old bones had wanted the warmth, and in the back of her mind, something had clicked.  Fire bestows immortality, and the mortal feelings of love and possession had snapped into something stronger.  More than a surrogate nurse to this surrogate child, she could be a real mother again, provided that she could make this child immortal.  She accepts that her daughter Persephone is lost and that even if she could find her again, she would still prefer this innocent boy.

A gasp and the sound of a slamming door make Doso turn slowly.  "Yes, lady?" she asks.

Metaneira screams and rushes into the room.  "What are you doing?" she cries and snatches Demophon out of the fire.  "Monster!  Witch!"  She frantically pats at Demophon, who responds to her distress by breaking out into tears.

Doso grabs the child back and cradles him to her breast, making soothing noises.  He gradually calms down and Doso looks up at Metaneira with snapping eyes.  Metaneira's clothing is sooty and badly singed and her skin is red and blistered.  She is crying and screaming, and the noise attracts the rest of the household.  The four daughters and Keleos run into the small room, looking for the source of trouble.

"She--she--witch--trying to kill my son," Metaneira gasps, pointing a shaky finger at Doso.  The crowd splits, as the younger girls try to calm their mother and Kallidike and Keleos turn to Doso.

"What is this?" Kallidike demands.  "What have you done?"  She looks confusedly at Demophon, who is contentedly sucking on his thumb.  She turns back to Metaneira.  "Mother, he looks fine.  What happened to upset you?"

Doso stands aloof, paying no attention to anything but the child in her arms.  Her plan, destroyed!  The touch of a mortal had ruined Demophon's chance at godhood and ripped away her second child.  After living as a mortal and experiencing mortal emotions, she can name the feelings rushing through her now: anger, which makes her veins bulge and her teeth clench; grief, which makes her hands shake; and love, which makes her thrust Demophon into Kallidike's hands instead of dashing him to the ground.  The last emotion is fading fast and Kallidike stumbles and falls to the ground as she catches her brother.

"Mortals!" Demeter thunders, casting aside her mortal guise.  She feels vibrant and alive again, clad in her true form.  Her head reaches the rafters, sweet scent wafts from her body, and her garments sparkle with a thousand lights.

The mortals throw themselves at her feet, trembling with fear.  They are nothing to her and she considers stepping on them or perhaps caving the roof in upon them.  But she catches sight of Demophon and her heart contracts briefly.  She decides to content herself with making the mortals appease her with sacrifices and rites in her honour.

  
4.   To reside; dwell:  _lives on a farm._

In her temple at Eleusis, Demeter broods.  She had a child and she was stolen away.  She had nearly made a mortal's child her own, until his mother snatched him back.

Every day, the procession of immortals comes and goes, each sent by Zeus.  Each one has the same request, that she restore the harvest and the honours of the gods.  She gives the same answer to each and idly wonders if Zeus will ever condescend to come beg at her feet, or if the concept of responsibility is entirely foreign to him.  It is possible; the gods do not understand some ideas.  She could not name pain or grief until she lived among the mortals, who receive it as their lot in abundance.  

 _Mortal men endure what the gods give us and we suffer from necessity_ , Kallidike had said.

Demeter knows that Zeus will never realize how to make amends, because he does not understand how he erred in giving away her daughter to hateful Hades.  He cannot comprehend innocence or youth, because he has always been the unchanging, immortal father of the gods and men.  He does not understand filial love or the affection of a mother for her only child.  Demeter knows this, and she knows that eventually, one of the other Olympians -- perhaps Hera, who is a mother; perhaps Athena, who is wise; perhaps Artemis, who is a daughter and scorns marriage -- will persuade Zeus to return Persephone.  Or perhaps he will continue to refuse and will choose instead to waste away without the mortals' sacrifices.  Either way, it makes little difference to her.  The daughter she receives back will not be the youthful maiden that she lost, and the world will not change greatly without Zeus at its helm.

Demeter broods in her temple and waits.


End file.
